As Daylight Fades
by Fortyfive stars
Summary: Commodore James Norrington is, in every sense of the words, a man haunted by his past. Sparrington oneshot, part of my songinspired series. Nothing graphic.


Title: **As Daylight Fades**  
Author: **Fortyfive Stars** (**empressizzy** on LiveJournal)  
Pairing: Sparrington (written for the Sparringtonfest at scruffylove)  
Rating: PG  
Beta: Unfortunately un-beta-ed.  
Phrase prompt  
**#23: James is definitely going to kill him this time** (sort of)  
**#44: Want, Take, Have.  
**Single word prompt  
**#47: Forever.**  
Summary: James is a man that, in every sense of the word, is haunted. Ghost!Jack-fic.

* * *

James wasn't very surprised when he -yet again- found himself to be in possession  
of a pirate bird and subsequently had the scoundrel clapped in irons.

He was mildly surprised when he reached Port Royal without any incidents that  
somehow, through their long-reaching and fatal consequences should he not free  
Sparrow, did not force his hand to let the man fly.

He was perturbed but unsurprised when the pirate offered to bribe, whore or just  
plain debauch his way out of the chains. Disturbing dreams followed in the wake of  
his own refusal.

They hung him at noon, with the sun beating down upon them from high above.  
James sweated under his wig and perspiration made his shoes chafe mercilessly.

Yes, one might say that he was, on the whole, supremely unsurprised up until the  
point where Sparrow's body stopped twitching where it hung and a day later he was  
still very much surprised that there had been no unexpected rescue mission or  
miracle resurrection.

But it would seem that Jack Sparrow was not Jesus after all.

So why, sweet gods of mercy, _why_ was the infuriating man hovering next to him,  
a pale laughing shadow, everywhere he went?

Because he was sure he had definitely killed him this time.

Yes, Jack Sparrow was dead but apparently this did not pose large enough an  
obstacle to keep him out of James' presence.

So Commodore James Norrington was in every sense of the words a man haunted  
by his past. He supposed he ought to feel flattered that he had his own personal  
spirit. A guidance spirit? Hardly likely.

"The heron's on the move," Jack said quietly, grinned. A sharp grin, like an  
unsheathed blade, that sliced through brocade and uniform and sinew and flesh.

James nodded mutely and looked at his lonely shadow. (lonely because Jack  
seemed to have left his shadow behind) He blinked against the sudden sting of road  
dust in his eyes –that must be it- and shifted his attention to the birds silhouetted  
against the grey skies.

"Why don't you go with them?" he murmured. "Maybe you'd like it. You could go to,  
to…" he flailed for words. "To Singapore. Or Africa."

Jack stuck his tongue out but made no other reply. He tore a handful of faded, yellow  
grass from a withered tuft and threw it at James. The wind was against him though,  
and most of it ended up in his hair.

He scowled fiercely – James looked at the endless fields around them and couldn't  
help but think they looked like his own stubbled face when he neglected to shave.

"Maybe Sweden? I hear that large, white bears freely roam the streets there."

"Polar bears, aye. I expect that'd be interestin'. Won't go nowhere without ye though,  
my fine Commodore. Don't ye worry."

He didn't worry. Resigned was more an accurate description of how he felt on the  
matter – resigned to repenting for his sins, resigned to a life with Jack by his side,  
resigned to repenting for not being repelled by that thought, resigned to duties and  
feelings. Resignation was fast becoming a trademark of his these days, he reflected.

Finding out that Jack was growing more solid as time passed –although he still faded  
away into a pale nothing, the whisper of a shadow against a white background, on  
noon of the most sunny days- was surprising, but pleasant.

Surprising because it somehow meant that Jack was getting stronger, and that might  
mean that he was feeding on James' strength like a vampire. Pleasant because it  
opened up possibilitites he had never before considered.

But however interesting these possibilitites were, getting dressed was always the most awkward part.

During the act itself he never really thought about it, the ghost being that was their  
relationship, and before the act he was mostly interested in getting down to the skin.

When you were getting dressed, however, when the frenzy was over and the need  
had been sated and you had stolen your breath back… that was when your mind  
caught up with you, nervously fidgeting fingers trying to fasten the buttons in the tense posture.

He found that hard physical work helped, a welcome exertion to stab away the  
thoughts of the other exertions he had engaged in, and carefully cultivated a  
reputation for being fond of hunting. He wasn't really, but he was fast becoming more  
and more dependant upon riding out, riding hard and fast and losing the needy  
spiraling thoughts to the winds.

His proposal to Miss Jane Avery, the only daughter and sole heiress of a very  
wealthy sugar plantations owner, turned out to be a disaster. James had the  
opportunity, the fine speech, the right clothes and felt sure of her saying yes.

However, he had not counted on being hemmed in by a wired, vengeful pirate who  
had no scruples about whispering lewd nothings into his ear to steal his peace of  
mind, and make him forget what he meant to say.

In the end there was nothing for it but to excuse himself and leave to find solace in  
the extensive gardens of the property. The night air would fan out the fires of his  
desire and embarrassment.

Jack's hands stole up as gently as a pickpocket's and effortlessly wove through the  
thick, dark hair into a restraining grip.

"Mine," he hissed and grinned dangerously. "Forever."

"Jack…" James whispered almost painfully.

The pirate stole his name back with a kiss, sealing forever.


End file.
